


The Vastness Inside You

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Series: Gobmas 2020 [4]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lovecraft Fusion, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Episode: s01e08 Family Friend, Face-Fucking, Lovecraftian, Lovecraftian Monster(s), M/M, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Triple Penetration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27958196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: When John tricks Malcolm into the sewers, Malcolm finds the man has much more in common with his father than he'd feared.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright/Paul Lazar | John Watkins
Series: Gobmas 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037802
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20
Collections: Prodigal Son Kink Meme





	The Vastness Inside You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prodigalsanyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalsanyo/gifts).



> >:3 Sanyo, I have it on good authority you never thought this would ever get filled... well, I triple filled Malcolm for ya. It's just a snip of your prompt, but I hope you love it~ Merry Gobmas you crazy wonderful lady <3<3<3<3<3
> 
> Prompt: Martin is elder god who feeds on soul deep suffering hence serial kills
> 
> Mal is half demon which is how he pulls knowledge from air and enthralls ppl. The hallucinations manifest as literal demons in the portal of mal's mind. Mal was made to be his father's gate.
> 
> Enslaved john watkins becomes a vessel acolyte for a lesser demon that serves Martin... John acquires tentacles, seduces mal in all his holes, all holes filled which widens monster portal.
> 
> Story starts like a case fic of butchered dead doves lol do not eat. Like heyyy whats this sigil. Animal sacrifices level up to human offerings.
> 
> Ainsley notices trend of missing/murders and runs into mal chasing down cult activity. Family reunion and martin is delighted.
> 
> Edrisa is a monster who neutral, partying on earth... she is a fount of lore and helps the team. Feeds on sexual pain.
> 
> Gil kidnapped for sacrifice and it slams Mal into his humanity
> 
> Dani keeps Mal safe as Gil's last order.. until Mal ready to fight martin and save his daddy
> 
> But if Martin gets ahold of Mal, its the end of the world.

“You sound like your dad.”

The words skitter across his neck, prickly and unwanted.

“Look like him.” A deep inhale. “Smell like him.” Warm, fetid air puffs against the nape of his neck as Paul chuckles. “You even have his aura. It’s a pity you chose your filthy, human mother and her stunted existence.”

Malcolm clutches at the bars of the turnstile as the terror rockets through him. He has so many questions, so many hypotheses, and, at the center of every single one, is his father.

Martin Whitly, The Surgeon — whatever his true name is. 

Paul must have an inkling of who he worked with. Not anything precise, of course, or else his human brain would have shattered beyond repair, but Malcolm silently changes his initial theory. It’s unlikely the two of them crossed paths at St. Edwards. 

No, it’s much more probable Paul was a follower. 

(He remembers sitting on his father’s knee. Remembers feeling the vastness simmering under his disguise. Remembers the whisper of his own true name, of syllables no human would dream of stringing together for one of their sons or daughters. His father shared a piece of his vastness with him the very moment he was conceived. A fraction of his potential and reach. 

Malcolm locked it away deep down inside of himself the day he met Gil Arroyo.)

“I’m warning you, little Malcolm,” Paul says, a gleeful rumble. “Your charm won’t work on me.” He presses him harder into the bars. “Now tell me, did you use your natural talents to find that filthy junkie?”

“No,” Malcolm snaps. Never. No matter how tempting. “I’m a profiler. It’s my job to understand people like you.”

Although the pressure doesn’t abate, Paul puts a small amount of distance between their bodies now, his hands still holding the bars in place. He hums. 

A slick, slimy noise fills the air. 

Malcolm feels his stomach shoot up to his throat long before tentacles slam him into the bars with inhuman force.

The squirming appendages feel familiar. It’s not exact, but he knows what lies behind him now. 

(He remembers his father forbidding him from looking. 

From seeing. Understanding.

 _It’s for your safety, my boy._ )

“No, more than that.” One long tentacle winds around Malcolm’s chest, suckers distinguishable through the layers of his suit, constricting even as the others push him forward. It’s cool to the touch. The sticky, slippery sheen leeches through the fabric slowly. “Tell me. Tell me how you did it, or I will grind you.”

Malcolm inhales as much as he dares, as much as he can. He clings to the bars in front of him. “You told me I interrupted you. That’s all I needed.” He’s feeling lightheaded. Something inside of him is coiling up, aching to lash out, but he refuses to let it. 

The tentacle constricts more. Paul growls behind him. “There’s more to it. I know it. How did you know?” 

The pressure increases, and Malcolm screams as he feels his ribcage creak. Tears burn the corners of his eyes. He gasps for breath. “Because we’re the same!” He sobs at the reprieve Paul gives him for his confession. “My dad, he — he created me.” 

As an experiment. He developed his own ritual and chose a carrier to start his own family of hybrids. How it worked, Malcolm still has no idea.

“I hold a piece of him,” he continues numbly. 

(He remembers the constant shifting in his chest as he grew older, the eagerness under his own skin.)

Paul’s grip on him doesn’t lessen in its intensity. The very tip of the tentacle around Malcolm’s chest slips under the buttons of his suit one by one, popping them with minute flicks. It traces symbols across his skin with a slimy trail. “You use it, don’t you?” Another slithers under his belt and into his briefs. 

Malcolm squeezes his eyes shut at the touch and shakes his head weakly. 

“Don’t you?” The teasing touches stop. The pressure increases. 

“No,” Malcolm groans. “I promise!” He doesn’t, does he? Sure, sometimes his mind makes leaps no human could. Sometimes he sees the patterns in the universe around him. He sees the way things _could_ be. 

But he doesn’t use his powers. Right?

“ _Liar_.” 

The tentacle in his pants bypasses his half hard cock to rub between his cheeks with a squelch. The one wrapped around his chest flicks at a nipple, the suckers tugging at his pale skin. 

“I’m not lying,” Malcolm insists, anguished. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t want to, but the primal part of him, the side that’s more vast than even he himself can comprehend, is pleased. 

Another tentacle slides up and around his neck, the tip forcing its way into his mouth, past his teeth, down his throat, viscous slime easing the way, clogging up any further protests with its increasing girth. 

He chokes on it. He gags. His throat seizes up and tries to force the obstruction out of the way. 

The lowermost tentacle breaches his ass, spreading his rim gradually. The thinnest part of it twists and prods his prostate. 

“Accept it,” Paul murmurs. “This is in your nature, little Malcolm. This is in your _blood_.”

Working in tandem, the two appendages inside of him begin to thrust. They fill him up and empty him out. 

Malcolm squirms and sobs. Silent. 

“Your dad graced me with these. I was content to be nothing more than his disciple.” Leaning in, Paul tightens the turnstile just a touch. “But I embraced the gifts I was given. Why can’t you?”

He feels full. _Fuck_ , he feels so full. He can’t begin to guess how much he’s taken, how far Paul is inside of him. His jaw aches at the width of him. The length in his ass practically holds him up. He’s filled to the brim, and yet Paul is feeding him more and more. He gags again. There’s barely room for his muscles to contract. 

Paul mimics a soothing sound. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you trying to speak?” He laughs, rough and loud, as his tentacle rears back out of Malcolm’s throat. 

Malcolm heaves and gasps. 

It wraps around his neck snugly. 

“Tell me your sins, little Malcolm. Relieve yourself of your burden.”

“I do,” Malcolm rasps, already feeling empty. Too empty. “I use them.”

“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Paul’s words drip with satisfaction. 

Malcolm trembles, and his shoes slip against the slick sewer floor, the appendage inside of him still shifting and pressing and _filling_. “I can’t turn them off. I can’t — I’m my father’s son. He taught me as much as I could handle.” 

The tentacle around his neck caresses his jaw as it unravels and pushes its way into his mouth again.

He doesn’t protest.

“You’re built for this,” Paul says soothingly, mockingly. 

Another slimy push at his hole heralds the arrival of another tentacle. 

Malcolm’s eyes flutter shut as he’s breached by a third. He swallows thickly around the pulsing length in his throat. He whimpers as the new one slides in as deep as the one beside it. 

They begin to push and pull. One retreats, the other thrusts forward. Suckers graze against his prostate and yank at his walls.

The sewer tunnel is filled with the violent _schlick schlick schlick_ of ooze and squirming muscles. 

Malcolm takes it all. He holds himself up with two hands white-knuckled against the turnstile bars, his legs all but useless now. He goes as limp as he can and lets himself be used. 

Does he have any other choice?

“Good boy,” Paul rumbles, pleased. 

His vision whites out. He shakes. He gags and bites down, his teeth nowhere near sharp enough to cut through otherworldly flesh. His hole clenches futilely. His cock jerks and spits. 

(His chest warms with the distant pangs of satisfaction.)

He falls to the ground in a heap as he’s emptied. 

“Wait for my instructions — tonight.” There’s an obscene noise as the tentacles tuck themselves back in. Paul readjusts his shirt and flashes him a cruel smile. “Tell no one.”

The vastness inside of him settles.


End file.
